Mallara and Burn: On the Road (2 page)

Mallara managed a smile."You're probably
correct," she said."They all looked for remnant magics. They all
set ward spells and cast look-sees and tangles at the stones."

"They all saw nothing," said Burn.

Mallara nodded."They all saw nothing." And
then she spoke a Word, and the light hanging above the Round went
dark. She raised her hands, and spoke another word, and the tangled
skeins of light returned to her, and she thanked them, and they too
went dark.

Night reclaimed the Round, the wet stones
touched here and there by flickering orange
pumpkin-light."Mistress?" said Burn, from above.

"My predecessors had mage-lights and
tangle-spells and half a dozen other magics," said Mallara. She
marched back to stand by her staff, her boots making loud sucking
noises in the mud with every step."We'll wait in the dark. With
nothing."

Burn followed, buzzing in the shimmer
frown."Ah," he said."Say it a bit louder, won't you? I'm not sure
each and every bandit and haint in the Five Valleys heard you, that
time."

Mallara reached her staff, retrieved her damp
cloak, and threw it over her shoulders."Nonsense," she said.

Burn sighed."Can I at least look around?" he
asked.

"Of course," said Mallara. The light wind
shifted, and the music from Toth came with it, faint but clear.

"Happy Ollow's Eve, Mistress," said
Burn."Peace and plenty to you and yours."

"To you too," said Mallara. Burn flew up into
the dark.

Mallara waited until Burn was gone, and wiped
away a tear.

"Midnight at the bell," said Mallara's clock,
from its perch on her shoulder. She heard it whisper a countdown
--"Three, two, one," -- and then it struck a tiny silver bell.

A fat drop of rainwater dripped off a stone
and went plop into a puddle. Burn hovered near, silent and still.
Candle-eyed pumpkins looked on, flickering and glowing, their eyes
mad and bright, triangular teeth fixed in leering grins.

Mallara strained her ears. There was piping,
but from the village; within the Round, the only sounds were those
of wind and water and night.

The clock tugged gently at her hair."Midnight
and one," it said."Midnight and one."

Mallara sighed. Burn dropped near."Just rocks
and pumpkins," he said.

"So it seems," she said. She turned in a
circle and looked upon each of the standing stones, saw nothing,
heard nothing.

Rocks and pumpkins, she thought. What am I
doing wrong?

You're waiting for something that isn't ever
going to come again, she thought, in reply. Waiting for the Winter
King, and you thirty years of age.

"Losing the lights and the tangles didn't
work," said Burn. He fell to the level of Mallara's face."I have an
idea, if you're willing."

Mallara cocked her head."I'm listening," she
said.

"Maybe we're waiting for the wrong piper,"
said Burn."In fact, maybe Old Bones is waiting for us to play,
before he can dance."

Mallara frowned."None of the sightings
mentioned that," she said."They all claimed the music came from the
stones."

Burn's blur expanded."That's what they said,"
he said."But we're talking about kids here. Kids and minstrels. Now
what do you suppose parents hereabouts have been telling their kids
for a millennia or two?"

"Stay out of the Round," replied Mallara.

"Exactly," said Burn."Which draws them to the
place like ants to molasses." Burn's voice fell."Now what else --
and maybe most specifically -- do you think Mother and Father Toth
emphatically forbade their children to do?"

Mallara shrugged.

Burn made a sighing noise."It's obvious,
Mistress," he said."The kids. The minstrel. They weren't up here
sitting quietly in rows, waiting to take careful notes when Old
Bones appeared," he said."One had a pipe. Or maybe one whistled, or
sang."

"You're saying they came up here to raise Old
-- to raise the entity?" said Mallara."That's insane, Burn. No one
with any sense would dare such a thing. What if an elemental, or
some leaving of an Old One came forth?"

Burn made a small circle."Kids and minstrels,
Mistress. Bored young shepherds with too much time and too much
homebrew apple-jack. Tall, pale young men desperate to impress the
local females. They came, they piped, they ran home screaming. And
maybe they calmed down just enough to hide the pipes and claim they
were just walking past the stones minding their own business when
Old Bones jumped out of the ground and grabbed their
shirt-tails."

"And the minstrel?" said Mallara.

"He was probably told to keep his pipes out
of the Round, too," said Burn."He could hardly look the Mayor in
the eye and tell him he'd gone up there to play. Not without losing
his room at the inn and his month of nightly singings," he
said.

Mallara shook her head.

Burn made an exasperated buzz."Oh, bother,"
he said."Mistress, you were born a polite, obedient, well-mannered
young lady," he said."But the rest of the human race is composed
entirely of persons who would gleefully exhume Old Ones and shout
Dread Words at their skulls just to watch them twitch," he
said."I'm right in this. In fact," said Burn, his voice a purr,"if
you'll agree, I'll pipe. And if Old Bones doesn't put in a dance
I'll only speak when spoken to for five whole days."

"Five days?"

"Five days," said Burn."Furthermore, I'll
address you only as 'Your Majesty,' and I'll hum a fanfare as you
walk."

Mallara smiled, and Burn hooted in
triumph.

"What song?" he said."'Hail, Hail the Winter
King?'"

Mallara took in a breath. The clock tugged at
her hair, and reached out to pat her neck with its cold brass
hands.

"What else?" said Mallara."You may
proceed."

"You won't be sorry," said Burn. He darted
away, to a point high above the Round, and a strong, steady piping
began.

Mallara spoke a Word, and the brass clock
leaped from her shoulder and vanished into a sudden hole in the
air.

Burn's piping grew louder. And try as she
might, Mallara couldn't keep the words to 'Hail, Hail,' out of her
mind.

Hail, hail the Winter King,

Snow and ice and harvest bring . . .

She recalled her father's gruff voice,
singing the words as he'd put her to bed, so many years ago. And
she recalled the toys she'd always awakened to find hidden in her
snow-hat. All were carved from rich golden iron oak, and all had
been wondrous. How long, Mallara wondered, did my father work,
carving quiet by the fire, just to give me that one brief moment of
magic?

Burn's piping grew faster, and he swooped
down close to Mallara head.

"Nothing yet," she said. She turned a circle
in the dark and wished for even the smallest light spell. But I'll
do without, she decided. If there is any magic loosed here tonight,
let it be that of the Round and the Round alone.

Burn resumed his flight. His piping was
strong, his rendition of the song perfect -- but Mallara saw
nothing in the dark.

Burn piped the final chorus and fell
silent.

"You win, Mistress," he said, after a
moment."No dancing here tonight."

Mallara sighed, watched her breath turn to
steam in the air."No dancing here tonight," she said. No dancing
bones. No moonlit tide of magic. No Winter King, and knew it all
along.

Time to grow up, thought Mallara. Time to put
my toys aside. Father carved them all anyway, and they are gone,
and so is he, and the Winter King -- well, the Winter King never
was.

"Well," she said."That is that."

Burn fell down to hang before her face.

"There is no Piper, Burn," she said."No
Piper, no Winter King, no dancing here unless we bring it."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Burn. Then, at
sight of Mallara's suddenly widened eyes and gaping jaw, Burn flew
a hand's breadth back.

"Mistress?" he said."What is it?"

"No dancing unless we bring it," she
said."That's what we did wrong, just like all the others."

Burn buzzed."We brought it," he said."Rain
dripped. Pumpkins grinned. No one danced."

"Precisely," said Mallara. She called up a
hole in the air, and thrust her wet cloak into it."I'll need you to
play again," she said.

Burn dipped."Certainly," he said, confusion
in his tone."Now?"

"Wait," said Mallara. Then she marched away
from the center of the Round, moving to stand just within the ring
formed by the feet of the stones."Give me a moment."

She closed her eyes, raised her hands, and
struck a court dancer's pose -- left leg straight, left foot flat,
right foot tip-toe and bent at the knee.

"Mistress," said Burn."You aren't."

"I am," said Mallara, through gritted
teeth."I am a Bearer of the Staff and a Wielder of the Word and an
agent of the Crown and if there is wild magic in this place I'm
going to find it." She opened her eyes, sought out Burn's faint
blur."And not a word of this to anyone, you hear?"

"I hear."

Mallara shook her head and took a breath and
closed her eyes again. Forget the mud and the stones and the dark,
she thought. Imagine the Imperial Gala at Vo Sinte, all
marble-tiled floors and high vaulted ceilings and glittering
chandeliers.

A vagrant rain-drop struck Mallara squarely
on the tip of her nose.

"Play," she said.

Burn began to pipe.

Mallara twirled. Her right boot sank deep
into the mud, but she wrenched it free, brought her hands down to
her waist, and managed a squelching pirouette before stepping into
the first movement of an old Phendelit court dance.

Burn piped along, slowing the tempo so
Mallara could keep up. The mud gripped and sucked at her boots with
every move. Great gobs of it flew free each time she pulled away,
and she very nearly fell twice before dancing halfway around the
circle of stones.

The empty, silent stones. The rounded bulk of
Stone Seven rose up beside her, and no hint of magic touched the
night. Stone Eight loomed into view, and water splashed about
Mallara's ankles, and she stumbled, soaking her knees and muddying
her hands -- but still she danced, leaping and spinning and
twirling as best she could.

Come on out, she shouted silently, at the
stones. I dare you, Old Bones. Prove you're real, now that I'm
grown.

She passed Stone Nine, with its carved
pumpkin-face and weathered runes, but still the Round was empty.
Stone Ten, and Mallara gasped for breath, the constant pull of the
mud and the weight of it on her boots tiring her, and sending aches
and sharp pains up her calves and thighs.

Come on out, she thought. Last chance, and
then I turn away forever.

The squat bulk of Stone Eleven whirled
clumsily past, and Mallara stumbled toward Stone Twelve, and Burn's
piping ceased abruptly, and Mallara heard him call out her name
--

-- and then he was gone. Gone, like the mud
and the scent of rain in the chilly air and the mad, glowing
pumpkin eyes. Mallara found that she danced on firm, dry ground,
and that the stars rode bright above, and the stones of the Round
were tall and straight and square, each polished like a mirror and
shining in the light of a bright full moon.

Mallara turned, and he was there. Body of
bones, head a grinning pumpkin, a jaunty red scarf tied around his
fleshless neck. The Winter King danced beside her, bones clacking,
his steps light and fast, his movements fluid and precise.

Mallara halted, staring. Just like in the
stories, the Winter King had no feet -- his leg-bones stretched
from his hips and continued on down, into the earth. When he
leaped, his leg-bones merely elongated; when he fell, they
shortened.

Then those great empty three-sided eyes
turned to meet Mallara's, and she went backed up a step, and the
stones and the stars and the Winter King began to fade.

Mallara twirled, threw up her hands in a
Vendish pirouette, and pulled them down as she spun. The stars and
the stones grew solid once more, as did the Winter King, who
clapped his hands in delight and leaped to land beside her.

*Stay!* he said, though Mallara knew his
voice didn't come from within the grinning carved pumpkin mouth.
*Stay and dance!*

Mallara danced. Simple steps, she thought,
willing away the pains in her ankles and shins. Simple steps,
because if I stop, the magic holding me here stops.

*So lonely,* said the voice. *So long, since
anyone came to dance with me.*

Stop, turn, spin, step."How long?" she
said.

The Winter King did not speak, but Mallara
saw the Ringed Round, as it once was, before the Kingdom or the
Wars of the rising of the seas. She saw people gather, saw them
pipe and play, saw them dance in the moonlight each Ollow's Eve.
She saw years pass, saw magics cast, and in that moment after the
vision faded she knew what had happened, here amid the stones.

Belief is power, she thought.

Turn, leap, turn.

Power takes form.

Form shapes belief.

She twirled, and the Winter King was beside
her offering her a skeletal hand. She took it, and smiled, and the
King beamed joy.

*So long!* he shouted. *So long!*

At the Winter King's touch, Mallara went
light. Light as air; gone were her aches, her pains, her cares. She
leaped, and stars streamed past; she twirled, and gossamer
moonlight rushed over her like wind.

Belief is power, came the words, quiet and
sad in some distant corner of Mallara's mind. She saw the Winter
King born, and she saw him grow, and then she saw something else.
All too often, creation gives way to fear.

She saw the Winter King trapped. No more a
meeting-place, she saw spells shaped and cast, saw the stones
become a prison. And then no one came to dance, trapping a gentle,
patient spirit in a frightful form, doomed to dance alone the whole
of an endless false night.